by Sorcha Black
“If I give her my grandmother’s money and keep a bit for myself to live on, do you think it would show her I was serious about being dedicated to her and the company?”
“You’re asking if she’ll like you if you pay her to?”
“It’s not like that.”
“Isn’t it?”
I tried to get off his lap, but he held me where he wanted me. I wanted to be mad at him, but he kissed my forehead, and I melted. Besides, he was right.
“Will she like me if I pay her to?” I asked, knowing the answer.
“No,” he admitted, resting his cheek against my head. “I know that’s what you’re hoping for, but it isn’t going to happen. If you feel she deserves that money, by all means, give it to her. However, your grandmother left it to you, not to her. If she’d wanted her to have it…”
“But I don’t care about the money. She does.”
“So would anyone who needed, or even wanted it. If you want gratitude, you could give it to the poor, or give it to charity. If you want to invest it in your mother’s company, that’s understandable, but you have to know that handing it over to her won’t fix your relationship.”
“I could give money to the staff—to Jake, and my old nanny, and Vincent and Deb so they can finally retire? To all of them.”
“I think giving money to your staff and former staff is a lovely idea, however you will not be giving a cent to me,” he said, sounding suspicious.
He knew me too well. “But I could give the rest to you.”
“That money is your responsibility, gorgeous. You need to figure out what to do with it with your lawyer or financial advisor, not with your bodyguard.”
“What if I tell my lawyer to give it to you?”
“I’ll refuse it.”
“It would make you rich, so no one would judge us for being together.”
“Absolutely not.”
“Wouldn’t you like the chance to stay together—to give us a chance? Unless this is just about the sex for you…”
“Of course I want to stay with you, but it’s not appropriate. Remember, we’ve talked about this?”
“As much as I like our dynamic, I’m not an actual child.”
“I didn’t say you were.”
“Then stop being patronizing.”
“I’m sorry if my words are coming off that way. Staying together just doesn’t make sense.”
“You’re making excuses. If you don’t want me, that’s fine. I’m a big girl—just tell me.”
He leaned against the back of the couch and dragged me with him. I sprawled over his big body, feeling warm and loved even though he was doing his damnedest to break up with me. No, I hadn’t misread anything. Talking to Mother always made me doubt myself, but if I could be secure in anything in this world, it was that Blue honestly loved me.
“I don’t want you,” he finally said.
Rather than the words crushing me, I laughed.
“Daddy, you’re a terrible liar.”
“I’m a very good liar,” he objected. And yet, he hadn’t loosened his hold on me. His dick was still half-hard, but his arms around me were harder.
“Maybe you should think about what we both want. Fuck what society expects us to do. You need to stop with your classist bullshit already.”
“Watch your pretty mouth,” he grumbled half-heartedly.
I grabbed his hand and put it to my lips, kissing the scarred knuckles. He settled in underneath me, a satisfied rumble in his chest, under my ear. I brushed his fingertips over my lips, then nibbled and licked at the end of his broad index finger.
“I understand what you’re trying to do, but why should we have to give each other up? We’re consenting adults. It’s no one’s business.”
“Your status makes your life public property.”
“You said it yourself—I’m of little to no importance in my own right. So, there’ll be a three-second scandal, and society will move on to who’s in treatment and who wrapped their fancy car around a tree. ‘Rich Girl Dates Her Bodyguard,’ will barely get airtime. It’ll matter to my mother, but what can she do about it? Disown me? Maybe I really should give up on trying to fix my relationship with her and move on.”
I sucked his finger into my mouth and tormented it until he was shifting irritably beneath me. Eventually, I straddled his lap, finding him hard again and lining his shaft up with my slit. His dress pants and my leggings were in the way, but I rocked against him, enjoying the hard feel of him against my clit.
“Has anyone ever told you that you’re a brat?”
“Maybe once or twice. ‘Aberdeen Arabella, you’re such a brat,’” I said, doing a terrible job of mimicking his raspy voice.
“I do not sound like that,” he said, grabbing my hips and guiding my squirms to suit himself.
“Yes, you do, Daddy,” I said, gasping as the perfect pressure on my clit sent shivery sparks through my body. “Now stop trying to be noble and give me some dick.”
He groaned. “You’re going to be the death of me, baby girl.”
Chapter Eighteen
It was funny how money meant never having to spend time in waiting rooms. As soon as we reached the front desk at the lawyer’s office, we were shown in immediately, as though Aberdeen was his only client.
“Miss Kincaid,” he said, coming around his desk to take her hand. He offered her a seat across the desk from him while he settled back into his own. I took up a position inside the door I’d closed behind us. She’d told me ahead of time that she wanted me to sit with her, but I’d refused.
“Twenty-two already. Time flies when you get to be my age, but I swear your father just brought you in here a couple of weeks ago.”
“He brought me here?” Aberdeen stroked the arm of the leather chair she was seated in, as though her father might have touched it once upon a time.
“You were small then—it was just after…”
“After my grandmother died?”
He nodded grimly, and his gaze shifted to me. He gave me a nod, too, as though he approved of my presence.
“Such a little bundle, and such adorable red hair.” He smiled, and it was sincere rather than a fake professional smile. “He doted on you.”
“Were you friends with my father?”
“Well, it was a professional relationship, but he was the kind of man who made everyone feel like an equal, you know? He wouldn’t rush out once business was done—he always asked about my wife and my sons. Talked current events. That sort of thing.”
Aberdeen grinned at him. “That’s nice to hear. I wish I remembered him. Do you know who my birth mother was?”
His brows rose. “Your mother told you about the circumstances around your birth?”
“Yes, I’ve always known.”
“That’s probably for the best. Secrets like that can be painful.” He nodded. “Yes, I met your birth mother. She signed papers here. She also left her information in case you ever wanted to contact her—you’re not biologically related to her, though. Your father arranged to use donor eggs for the in vitro.”
“Oh.” She sounded disappointed.
Had she hoped to find blood ties here? I hadn’t realized.
“If you’re looking for biological connections, you could always do one of those home DNA kits. Very accurate nowadays.”
She brightened.
“Now,” he took a thick file out of his drawer and set it on the desk. “I’m not sure how much of this you know.”
He shuffled through the papers in the file until he found what he was looking for. A white envelope peeped out in the midst of the stack. He drew it out and slid it across the desk to Aberdeen.
“This is a letter from your father. He wrote it here at this desk, as a matter of fact.”
“Why didn’t he give it to my mother to give to me?”
“I have no idea. Maybe it’s private.”
Rather than open it, Aberdeen held onto it as though afraid of what it might sa
y.
“Thank you for taking care of all this.”
“No thanks are necessary. Your father paid all of my fees up-front, just in case. I got the feeling he was afraid something might happen to him. Maybe because of your abduction.”
Hadn’t Aberdeen’s father shot himself? Maybe he’d planned things out in advance and wanted to make sure she was taken care of?
He went through a dizzying array of paperwork and sifted through overwhelming sums. It was hard not to laugh at the numbers flying around. They were surreal and a bit ludicrous.
Several times, she craned her neck to look at me. I could tell she was only paying polite attention and had no interest in what he was telling her.
They signed paperwork I was sure she wasn’t reading. Hopefully, she wasn’t signing away her soul. I wanted that for myself, at least a while longer.
When they were winding down, I had to butt in.
“So, if Miss Kincaid was to get married, she should do a prenup, right?”
He looked startled, which made sense, considering I hadn’t said anything up until that point.
“Yes, of course.” He eyed Aberdeen. “My dear, if you are considering getting married, a prenuptial agreement would be absolutely recommended.”
The diffuse light shining through the window behind the man made Aberdeen look even more ethereal than usual. Hell, she was gorgeous.
“I think Mr. Köhler is speaking in relative terms, Mr. McMillan. The only man I’m interested in is playing hard to get.”
Mr. McMillan reached across the desk and clasped her hands in his, then let go of her again as though realizing he had overstepped.
He chuckled. “I’m sure the man you have your heart set on will see sense sooner or later, if you persist. You have money and beauty and youth on your side, and you seem to have a good head on your shoulders. A kind heart too, if I’m any judge of character.”
“He’s very noble, this man I have my heart set on. He thinks he’s not good enough for me.”
The lawyer nodded grimly. “Sounds like the kind of man most fathers would want for their daughters. I hope there are women out there saying the same about my sons.”
Twenty minutes later, we walked out into bright sunshine, making me feel about a hundred years older and poor as a church mouse. If anything, the meeting had convinced me I’d be doing the right thing by letting her go as soon as I could bring myself to do it.
“You’re not going to read the letter?” I asked.
She was still holding it as if it were the Holy Grail. “Can we go to a park or something? I didn’t want to read it in front of an audience, and I don’t want to read it at home.”
“Of course.”
I drove her to a park not far away. It was small, and at this hour of the day it was mostly deserted. Before long, I settled her on a bench overlooking a pond. A bold seagull eyed us, probably hoping for errant snacks.
Aberdeen’s lips were white, and her hands shook.
“Do you need something to eat? You didn’t have much for breakfast.”
“Pardon?”
I took her free hand between mine and chafed it. She was pale and a bit clammy.
“Are you feeling okay?”
“What if he regretted commissioning me?”
“Aberdeen, if you use that word about yourself ever again, I will spank you no matter where we are. Yes, you’re beautiful, but you’re not just some piece of art your father paid someone to make for him.”
A small smile played around her lips, and her pale cheeks turned a little pink. “You wouldn’t spank me here.”
“Like I’d hesitate?”
She bit her bottom lip, and there was a spark of her usual brattiness in her lovely eyes, but as soon as her attention was drawn back to the envelope that spark disappeared.
“It says what it says, Aberdeen. If you want, you can choose not to read it.”
“Will you sit with me?”
I gazed around, surveying the possible risks in the area. We seemed to be alone, but we were in a public place, which made me leery.
Even so, I sank down beside her on the bench and wrapped my arm around her shoulders but made sure to watch our surroundings. She opened the envelope, and I prayed it would be something sweet. She needed that from the man.
She gasped. “My god.”
Damn. That didn’t sound like the closure I wanted for her.
“What’s wrong?” I asked, letting my attention wander from our surroundings for a moment. If anything, she was even paler than before.
“I… I need to speak to my mother.” She folded the letter and stuffed it back into the envelope without any of the reverence she’d shown bringing it here. We rose from the bench, but I didn’t expect her to break out in a run. She only made it a few steps before I caught her by the arm. “Aberdeen, slow down. It makes it hard for me to protect you if you run ahead, okay?”
“Right. Sorry.” She slowed her steps and laced her fingers through mine. It was completely inappropriate considering we could potentially be seen, but maybe she needed my emotional support more than my protection right then.
“What’s going on?” What I had mistaken for anxiety seemed more like fury when I caught sight of her expression. Rather than making her stop to discuss things where we were, I led her back to the car.
We got in, and I buckled her seatbelt because she seemed too distracted to do it herself.
“What am I going to do?” she demanded.
“I have no idea what’s going on, but knowing you, you’ll figure it out. You’re a smart cookie.”
“If I’m such a smart cookie then how come this had never occurred to me?”
“Is this about your father?”
“Yes!”
“Did he leave a note explaining why he took his life?”
She glanced over at me, brow furrowed.
“It wasn’t suicide.”
I’d started the car but paused to look at her. “How do you know? Something in the letter?”
She nodded but pressed her lips together. I could see the wheels turning in her mind, but if she wasn’t ready to tell me, that was her prerogative.
Gate security buzzed us in, and I took the pristine drive to the garage. As usual, I parked the car inside and helped her out, still glad that we’d gotten to the point where we only used a driver for fancy occasions. I’d much rather have her to myself.
I glanced around the huge garage and at all of the gleaming vehicles. There was no one in here except us.
“You should plan out what you’re going to say ahead of time, or she’ll derail the conversation and you’ll end up leaving with no information.”
She gave a curt nod. “She does tend to do that, doesn’t she?”
Aberdeen stormed into the house, with me striding along at her heels.
The office was empty.
Ms. Kincaid wasn’t home.
We asked Vincent to let us know when she arrived. At least she wasn’t on business in Europe.
After Aberdeen had spent two hours pacing, Vincent came to tell us Ms. Kincaid had arrived.
Vincent led the way to Ms. Kincaid’s office door, as though he had an idea something big was going on. Considering how long he’d been with the family, maybe he had almost as much reason to be here as I did.
“Are you sure you want me in there with you?” I asked before she knocked.
“I need moral support. You don’t have to say a word.”
She knocked firmly.
“Come in.”
Her mother didn’t bother to glance up from her paperwork as we entered the room. I stood inside the door, watching the older woman with annoyance. My father had been a dick, but even he had acknowledged my presence when I was in the room. Having a shoe thrown at me, as he’d often done, was better than this.
For once, Aberdeen didn’t sit down and politely wait.
“I was just with my father’s lawyer,” she began.
Her mother glanced up
from the document she was reading, raising her perfectly sculpted brows. “You finally dragged yourself away from your knitting to do something important? I’m shocked.”
I didn’t growl at my employer, but it was a very near thing.
“How long did the man say the transfer would take?”
“Transfer?”
“To Kincaid Holdings.”
Aberdeen looked uncertain but continued without needing to glance at me for reassurance.
Good girl. When we were on the island, we’d practiced scenarios where she stood up to her mother.
“I made no such arrangement.”
Her mother sighed in annoyance, as though Aberdeen was obtuse. “Well then, I suppose you’ll need to make an appointment with the bank this week.”
Aberdeen waved a hand, as though her mother’s words were irritating. “Mother, why didn’t my father invest my inheritance in Kincaid Holdings before he died? Why put it in a trust fund?”
Ms. Kincaid gazed at the ceiling, as though searching for patience. “The man didn’t have much of a head for business. He thought that money should stay separate for some reason—as though your every need wasn’t going to be met by us.”
“That must have been frustrating.”
She gave a sharp laugh. “He was a frustrating man at the best of times. Can you imagine? All that capital sitting there in the bank rather than using it to grow the company? Such a waste. Hopefully it earned some decent dividends in whatever investments he left it languishing in.”
“It more than doubled.”
“Well then, at least he did something partially right.”
Aberdeen didn’t flinch, even though her mother had clearly been referring to her.
“Was I the product of an affair?” she asked bluntly.
Her mother glanced up sharply. “Absolutely not. For all his faults, he wasn’t that kind of man.”
I hadn’t realized she’d wondered about that. If it had been true, though, her mother’s animosity might have made more sense.
“So you just hate me because I’m not like you.”
“Oh, Aberdeen, quit being so melodramatic. I’ve never hated you.”
“No? It certainly seems that way.”
“Haven’t I made sure you were well taken care of?”
